


Dragon Age Smut Party

by HereBeDragons



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Romance, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereBeDragons/pseuds/HereBeDragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This started as a spur-of-the-moment game on Tumblr; I solicited pairing prompts, and promised to write very short "smutty" fics for people who follow me. Some of them came out sorta cute, so I though I'd post them here, all in one place. </p><p>Most of them are not really explicit, although are certainly at least mildly NSFW. </p><p>More to come; I still haven't finished writing all the prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't die trying

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Scarsofhonor, featuring her OC, Thaddeus Cousland, and Anora Mac Tir.

 

‹›‹O›‹›

They stood on the battlements of Redcliffe Castle. Thaddeus turned, watching her profile as she looked down over the army camp. In the morning, they would march on Denerim. 

“Will you be able to do this?” she asked, not turning to face him, her voice little more than a whisper. 

“Yes.” He spoke with a confidence he did not truly feel, for her sake. “We will end the Blight.” 

“Or die trying?” There was a tremble in her voice, and he knew that this time, he couldn’t respond with a pretty lie. 

“Or die trying.” 

“I know all this … you and I,” she began, “I know this started out of convenience.” 

“And you know it means much, much more than that to me now, Anora.” 

Finally, she turned to him, her eyes shining, her pale skin gleaming softly in the moonlight. A strand of hair had come loose at her temple, and curled softly in front of her ear. 

She had never looked more beautiful. 

“For me as well,” she murmured. A single tear escaped her eye, and Thaddeus reached up to wipe it away with his thumb. 

Simultaneously, they reached for one another, their lips joining in a kiss as hungry as any they had previously shared. She wound her fingers in his hair, and he ran the flat of his palms across her back, and he knew he would never get enough of her.

When they finally pulled apart, he wiped away another of her tears, and cradled her cheek in his hand.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, my love. Don’t die trying.” 

“I won’t.” He took her face in the palm of his hand, and traced her upper lip with his thumb. “I promise you. I won’t die in this battle.” 

And he believed it. For the first time, he believed. Before, only blackness had stretched out in front of him when he tried to picture a life after the Blight, after the Archdemon was dead. Now, for the first time, there was something other than darkness and death. 

_Her face. Her golden hair, hanging down past her shoulders, slightly wavy from taking it out of the braids._

_The sound of her laughter._

_His hands sliding across her gently swollen belly, and feeling the kick of the precious life that grew within._

_Standing at her side, his arm around her shoulder, as they watched their children play in the courtyard of the Denerim palace, pretending to be Maric and Rowan and Loghain as they sparred with wooden swords._

A life with her. He could see it now, for the first time, so clearly. And they would have it. He would not die in this battle. He would live. 

For her. 

Thaddeus took her face between his two hands, and kissed her. With a whimper of pleasure, she kissed him back with equal fervor. Then, he moved one hand to her waist, and urged her backwards, until her back was pressed against the stone wall of the castle. 

His hand slid upward, over one of her breasts, and he stopped to run his thumb across the hard bud of her nipple. She moaned softly into his mouth, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. 

Desperate, he reached down, and tugged at her gown. He pulled it up and slipped his hand between her legs, needing to touch her, to feel her wetness, her heat. 

She gasped, and pulled away, bringing a hand to his chest and pushing slightly. Her eyes were wide, and her lips were parted as her breath came quickly. 

“Thaddeus? Here? We … we can’t.” 

He struggled to keep his breath even. “Please,” he whispered. 

She hesitated only a moment before bringing her hands to the waist of his trousers. She fumbled with the laces, as he tore her small clothes away. He reached down and grasped her thigh, urging her leg up. She wrapped herself around him, and, bending his knees slightly, he shifted his position and slid inside of her. She moaned, and wound her fingers in his hair and pressed her lips against his neck, and nothing had ever felt this good, not ever before.

Afterwards, he released her, and she rested against the wall, trembling as though her legs were not quite willing to support her weight. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, and then smoothed a loose strand of hair away from her face. She kissed him, a kiss so tender it made his heart ache, and when she pulled away, and she smiled, he knew he had never seen anything more beautiful in all his life. 

He would not die in this battle. He would live. With her.

Footsteps sounded nearby, sharp and fast against the stone.

Anora and Thaddeus pulled apart, straightening their clothing, making sure laces were tied.

“What’s this?” Eamon’s voice was startlingly loud in the otherwise quiet night. “I didn’t expect to find anyone up here.” His eyes narrowed as he looked from Thaddeus, to Anora, then back to Thaddeus.

“Sorry to have startled you,” Anora said, her voice calm and regal, as always. “We were just discussing plans for the battle.” 

“Oh. Of course.” Eamon searched Anora’s face, his eyes lingering on the strand of hair that refused to be tamed. Even in the dim light, a blush of red was visible on his cheeks. “Well, I’ll just … let you get back to it, then.” 

He hurried away, his footsteps echoing in the darkness. 

Anora glanced at Thaddeus, and giggled. A chuckle formed deep in his chest, and a moment later, they both burst into laughter. Anora reached for him, and clung to his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she relaxed against him.

“I believe you,” she murmured. “For the first time. I believe.” 

‹›‹O›‹›


	2. Does it hurt anywhere else?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Edamahun, featuring her OC, Oraya Amell, and Nathaniel Howe.

‹›‹O›‹›

The last genlock fell to the stone floor with a soft thud, and Oraya allowed herself to take a deep breath. The darkspawn had come out of nowhere, but fortunately there were only a few of them, and she and Nathaniel had little trouble dealing with them.

 A hand on her arm. She turned to find Nathaniel at her side.

 "Oraya. Are you all right? You're not injured, are you?"

 "No. I'm fine." She reached up and ran her fingers across a cut on his neck. "But I can't say the same about you." It wasn't deep, but it was bleeding heavily.

A few whispered words, and a glow of bluish light left the palm of her hand, settling over the wound like a fog. A moment later, it seeped into the wound, as though inhaled on a breath, and Nathaniel's skin knit itself back together.

He reached up, and took her hand, twining his fingers between hers. "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome. Does it hurt anywhere else?"

A grin played at one corner of his mouth. "I'm not sure." His voice was like smoke that curled around her, drawing her near. "Perhaps you could have a closer look? See for yourself? Just to be sure."

He tugged at her hand, and she allowed herself to stumble against him, resting a hand on his chest. His arm reached around her waist, and pulled her close. Through her robes, she could feel the heat from his palm against the small of her back, and felt the tingle of desire begin to build inside of her.

"Yes," she breathed. "I can see that a thorough examination is in order. No doubt you'll need to be lying down for it. Perhaps in my bedroom?"

"I think that would be a good idea." He bent his head, and captured her lips with his own, and kissed her, tenderly, but with an intensity underneath that spoke of the passion that would soon come. "A very good idea, indeed."

‹›‹O›‹›


	3. Right where I wanted to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Mireliambar: Nathaniel and Sigrun.

‹›‹O›‹›

Nathaniel brought his sword up, to parry the attack that came at him. He was able to knock his opponent's blade away, but when he turned, and slashed back with his own sword, she had already danced out of the way. She charged, but he was ready, and again parried the blow. 

"You're pretty fast, for someone so tall," Sigrun quipped, her breath coming faster than usual, but still nowhere near what would be considered 'winded.' 

"And you're reasonably good at getting out from underfoot," he shot back, charging at her, slashing first with his sword, and then with his dagger. 

She easily avoided both attacks. "Yeah, well I've had lots of practice at that. Hanging around clumsy dusters like you." She winked, then danced in for an attack that struck true, taking the wind out of him when the hilt of her dagger collided with his ribcage.

"Clumsy, am I?" He lifted a brow as they circled one another. "We'll see about that. He charged at her, determined to knock her off her feet. But Sigrun anticipated his movement. She dropped to the ground, and swung out with her foot, catching him behind one knee. Nathaniel's leg went out from under him, and he landed flat on his back. 

Sigrun pounced on top of him, quick as a cat, and straddled his waist. "Yeah. Clumsy." She laughed merrily, and shifted her hips back and forth and then back again, a glimmer in her eye. 

Using his legs, and the muscles in his back, Nathaniel pushed himself up off the ground, and rolled over, taking Sigrun with him. Now, she lay flat on her back, with Nathaniel on top of her. His hands pinned her shoulders to the ground, and he pressed his hips against her, slowly, temptingly. "Do you still think I'm clumsy?" he murmured, and then bent his head, capturing her lips with his own. 

Sigrun wrapped her legs around him, a chuckle forming deep in her throat as she returned the kiss.

After a minute, she playfully pushed him away. "Nah. I never thought you were clumsy. What you are is easy to goad. I knew if I taunted you, you'd do whatever it took to get me on my back. Which is right where I wanted to be." 

She wound her fingers in his hair, and Nathaniel allowed her to pull his face to hers again, as he relaxed eagerly into the kiss. 

‹›‹O›‹›


	4. Guess who?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Browncoatfromtheshire: her OC, Willow Hawke, and Isabela.

‹›‹O›‹›

Willow sat on the sofa, reading by the light of a single candle. She couldn’t sleep, and didn’t want to disturb anyone else, so she’d come down to the sitting room.

Soft footsteps approached, but before she could glance up to see who it was, a puff of breath extinguished the candle, and plunged the room into darkness.

A draft of air as someone came up behind her, standing behind the couch. Willow knew right away who it was; no one else smelled even half as delicious, reminiscent of salty sea air, and honey, and rich pipe tobacco. 

A rustle, and warm breath at her ear.

“Guess who?” 

Willow bit back a smile. “Anders, is that you?” 

“No, not Anders.” Warm hands on her shoulders. “Would Anders do this?” A soft kiss just behind her ear, and then another, slightly lower, and another, and another, all the way down her neck, leaving a trail of delightful warmth in their wake. “Guess again.” 

“Let’s see … Aveline? That’s you, isn’t it?” 

A throaty chuckle thrummed against Willow’s throat. “Not Aveline.” A hand slid down from her shoulder, along her arm, and then over to cup one of her breasts through the thin fabric of her nightgown. “Would Aveline do this?” A thumbnail flicked across her nipple, sending a bright burst of pleasure that ran all the way down to her toes. “Guess again.” 

“I know,” Willow managed, although she was having trouble catching her breath now. “Fenris. I’m right this time, aren’t I?” 

With catlike grace, a leap over the top of the sofa. Now, the mystery guest straddled Willow’s body. Knees pressed against her thighs, and hips ground gently against her. “No, not Fenris. Would Fenris do this?” Lips, wet and sweet, found hers, and then a soft tongue that tasted vaguely of wine and cinnamon. Gentle fingers wound themselves into her hair. Willow reached for those hips, and grasped gently, pulled closer, and once again they ground against her, and Willow was flooded with desire. “That’s three guesses,” the voice murmured. “All wrong.” 

“I give up,” Willow sighed. “I’m so bad at these games.” 

“Oh no, darling,” Isabela chuckled, the sound rumbling up from deep in her chest. With one hand she urged Willow onto her back and kissed the corner of her mouth, while the other hand reached to touch the place she knew would give her love the most pleasure. “You are perfect.” 

‹›‹O›‹›


	5. Dead center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Irish-Changeling: her Elysia Surana, and Loghain Mac Tir.

‹›‹O›‹›

"First, let's work on your stance."

Loghain and Elysia Surana were in the practice yard at Vigil's Keep and Elysia held, for the first time, a longbow in her hands. She wasn't at all convinced this was a good idea, but Loghain had been determined to teach her to shoot.

"Magic is all well and good, but it never hurts to have another weapon in your arsenal. Try it once," he suggested, "and then we'll make adjustments as needed." 

She nocked an arrow, and pulled it back. When she let it loose, it sailed nicely enough through the air, but whizzed several feet to the right of the target. 

"Not bad. But," he stepped up close behind her, "archery is marginally more useful when you hit your intended target." 

"Is it really?" she replied, with just a hint of sarcasm. 

"So I've been told. Let's see what we can do about that, shall we?" He pressed his left knee behind her leg. "Your feet should be about shoulder's width apart." He gently nudged her left leg forward, widening her stance. "And keep your weight even on both legs." His hands grasped her waist, then slid down to her hips. With his fingertips pressing gently, he shifted her body to one side, and then the other, and then back again, until her weight had settled as he wanted it. His hands lingered a moment longer than necessary, their warmth seeping through the fabric of her robes.

Now, his hands slid up, to span her ribs. He turned her body slightly away from the target. "Align your body with the aim of your arrow," he murmured into her ear, his breath hot against her neck. "If you face the target, your body will spin back after you shoot, and that's not what you want.

"Now," he said, "let me see you nock an arrow, and draw the bow."

Elysia glanced back at him to see a hint of amusement play at one corner of his mouth. He was enjoying this far too much, wasn't he? Still, she did as he asked, placing the arrow onto the bowstring, and then lifting the bow in her left hand, the arrow clutched in her right. 

He reached around her, covering her left hand with his own. "This is good. Your thumb and forefinger should line up with the center of the bow, and your thumb should rest just here." He pressed down with his thumb, to indicate the spot, and then rubbed gently across her fingers. "The rest of your fingers should be relaxed, only lightly touching the bow. This way, the bow won't fall out of your hand after your release." 

With his right hand, he twisted the arrow until the fletching faced toward her, and the shaft rested on the top finger of her left hand, and then he curled his fingers around her own. "Use only your first three fingers," he urged. "And keep a space clear between your fingers and the arrow nock." He moved her fingers into place where he wanted them. Then, he stroked the back of her hand. "Stay relaxed here, and tuck your thumb into your palm." With her fingers held beneath his own, he murmured, "Now, pull back, with equal pressure on all three fingers." 

She drew the bow, and he followed her movements. "Remember to follow through. Don't let your bow hand drop until after the arrow hits the target." He moved his hands away from hers, planted a light kiss just behind her ear, and took a step back. "All right. Let it go." 

The arrow flew through the air, high and straight, but again, missed the target, although only by a few inches this time. 

"Better. But let's try again. Nock another arrow." 

As Elysia prepared her next shot, she tried to remember all the things he'd told her. Again, he stood close behind her, adjusting her hips, then running his hands over first her bow hand, and then the hand that pulled back on the arrow. 

"Perhaps," he murmured, "a bit of extra incentive would help." 

"Incentive?" she asked. "What sort of incentive?" 

"Hmnh." The sound rumbled up from deep in his chest. "How about this?" He leaned close. "If you can hit the target, I will put myself under your command. Tonight. " He leaned closer, breathing his words into her ear. "All night." 

She glanced back to see a barely perceptible smile on his lips. "All night?" 

"Yes." He stepped back, giving her space to take her shot. 

"You're on."

After a deep breath, and careful aim, Elysia released the arrow.

And watched as it flew, straight and true.

It hit the target. Dead center. 

‹›‹O›‹›

 

Many thanks to the author of [this article](http://dsocarroll.tripod.com/id4.html), where I gleaned details of how to shoot a bow, since this is not a skill I personally possess.  


	6. Put that tongue of yours to good use. For once.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rendon Howe arrives late to an assignation with Bann Esmerelle. This was written as a joke for ASolitaryRose, but then I ended up being really happy with the way it turned out. Gosh darnit, I think I legitimately ship them now.

‹›‹O›‹›

Rendon made his way upstairs through the silent estate. The servants were used to his presence; he was a regular visitor to Esmerelle’s home in Amaranthine. Tonight, his step was quick and firm. He had … frustrations he very much wished to work out. Those damned Couslands, and their miserable brat. They were taking her to Orlais where, no doubt, she would be lauded by the empress. 

He turned left at the top of the stairs, and continued to Esmerelle’s quarters. Without knocking, he pushed open the door and strode into the room. 

She was there, laying casually on the bed. Her hair was up, just a few soft tendrils left loose to frame her face, and she wore nothing but a pair of black thigh-high stockings - silk, no doubt - and lipstick that was as red as the blood of their enemies. 

”There you are.” Her frown was pinched and unhappy. “I’d begun to wonder if you were ever going to turn up.” 

"I apologize for the delay, milady. But I had correspondence that needed to be seen to, tonight." 

"Indeed?" Now, a slight smile played at the corners of her mouth. "In that case," she purred, "I suppose you can be forgiven. Close the door." 

He did as she asked, and undid the button at the top of his cloak. He laid it carefully across the back of a nearby chair, and then began to work at the laces of his shirt. 

"No." She raised her chin. It was remarkable how she managed to look down upon him, even while he stood, towering above her. "There’s no need for that. I have something else in mind. Come here, and get down on the floor." 

She shifted her position, until she sat, legs slightly spread, at the very edge of the bed. 

He got to his knees, stumbling slightly in his hurry to do as she commanded. “Yes, my love. I think you’ll appreciate the arrangement I’ve just made. I have ensured that we’ll have eyes on Cailan, and the Cousland brat, when they travel to Orlais next month. One of Cailan’s guards-“ 

"Enough!" She leaned back on her elbows, and her hips slid even closer toward him. "If I wanted to hear what you have to say, I’d have asked. There will be time for that later. Now," she reached one of her legs up, and hooked the back of his neck with her ankle. "Just shut up, and put that tongue of yours to good use. For once." 

Without another word, as a flush of heat burned throughout his entire body and made him ache with desire, he eagerly complied.

‹›‹O›‹›


End file.
